Past Self
by ElStzl
Summary: A Ryan introspective starting post-"Links". Chapter 3 is up.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Ryan, Marissa, Seth, not the song lyrics, nothing. You all know who owns what.

AN: First fic, just had inspiration smack me upside the head this morning. Shout out to all the Ryan-addicted TWoPers – hope you guys approve. Comments/critiques always welcome.

_***********_

_Don't stay_

_Forget our memories_

_Forget our possibilities_

_What you were changing me into_

_Just give me myself back and _

_Don't stay_

_- Linkin Park_

Ryan stretched out on his bed, staring absently through the pitch black at the poolhouse ceiling.  The bags under his eyes notwithstanding, he appeared the way he did on any other night he couldn't sleep – stoic, emotionless, even. But the outward appearances and the inner workings of Ryan Atwood were rarely, if ever, compatible.  The small veins behind his eyes pulsed as thoughts raced through his mind, cascading off one another and fragmenting and evaporating in an almost undecipherable flurry…_"You know that motherfucker is lying"…"How the hell is your girlfriend taking some random guy's side instead of yours"…"When did your brother become so blind that he can't even see that this guy's trouble"…"Could it be that you're so insecure that you've created all of this in your own fucked-up head"…_but at the end of it all, a single image played as the backdrop to this mental cavalcade: Marissa Cooper turning her back on him, walking into Oliver Trask's bedroom, and shutting the door.

She actually chose him. Chose to spend the night with him.

Ryan squeezed his eyes tightly and shook his head once sharply, as if the sudden motion would somehow expel the entire mess out of his mind. Rising slowly from the bed, he shuffled over to the bookcase where his books were aligned neatly in rows by author, genre, and era. He ran a hand along the bindings of the volumes as he reached behind the small crevice between the back of the shelf and the wall, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his silver Zippo. After sliding on a pair of jeans he slipped out of the poolhouse and walked around to the back, knowing that Sandy and Kirsten's window looked right out at the front: the last thing he needed was to have Kirsten get all Truth-ad on him right now. He settled onto a small patch of grass just before the edge of the bluff, sitting Indian-style as he drew out a cigarette and lit the end quickly. Just hearing the familiar "click-scratch-click" of the Zippo calmed his mind a little. He inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke filling his throat before he exhaled slowly through his nose, the gray wisps floating in front of his eyes as his gaze settled on the shoreline of the Pacific Ocean. He sat and smoked in no hurry, trying to focus the wild buzzing of his thoughts. 

A soft crack broke him out his trance-like state: whipping his head around, Ryan expected to see the worst – Kirsten standing there, arms folded, scowl firmly in place. What he saw was nothing. Nothing but a darkened mansion and a poolhouse. He shook his head and growled softly, subconsciously saying what he was thinking, "Jesus. When the fuck did this happen to me?" 

_What the hell was this_, he thought to himself. _Here I am, hiding behind a poolhouse to have a smoke, obsessing over some prissy little blue-blood with a codependent complex and an apparent inability for commitment. Mulling over how best to deal with some shady kid that can't seem to pry himself away from my girlfriend. _He smirked as he lit another cigarette, his mind harkening back to a party over 2 years ago, back in Chino.

_"Yo Ry, I know you saw Anton over there trying to talk to Theresa."_

_"So what, Trey. They've got English together. They're friends."_

_"Are you serious? 'Friends' my ass. I thought you were the smart one, baby brother."_

_"Please man, that little punk wouldn't have the balls. He knows she's with me"_

_"Oh really. Then why don't you go outside and take a look for yourself."_

_"Whatever, I'll bet…what the…that son of a bitch…"_

_"He sure looks real friendly, doesn't he?"_

_"Hey Anton! Come here for a sec, man!"_

Ryan flexed his right hand, which had unwittingly closed into a fist as the memory replayed in his mind. He had broken two knuckles that night, but it was worth every bit of pain for the damage he and Trey had inflicted on that asshole. He looked to his other hand, the forgotten cigarette burned almost all the way to the filter. He flicked it aside, closing his eyes as a familiar sensation began coursing through his veins – the slow, cold rage that he had lived with for as long as he could remember before Newport. That he had made a concerted effort to bury when the Cohens had taken legal custody over him. It washed over him completely, reminding him that while life in Chino was wretched, the person he was in Chino was above this wishy-washy, overwrought garbage. The old Ryan may have been rough around the edges, and inside the edges, but at least he had the fucking stones to make a judgment, make a decision, and act on it. The harsh, unblinking clarity the feeling provided was almost refreshing after months of seemingly wandering through the mist of life among the rich and privileged. In an instant his mind was calmed from its beehive of questions.

Ryan knew all he had to about Oliver.

He knew that Oliver was a fraud, was nothing but bad news for Marissa, and by extension himself. 

He knew that Oliver was smart enough to keep up the blinders on Marissa, Seth, and all the other Newport silver-spooners, who clearly had no skills in seeing through bullshit veneers, and that it was up to him to expose the truth.

He also knew that it was going to take a superhuman amount of restraint for him not to level that smarmy little twit the next time their paths crossed.

He saw Marissa in much clearer terms, too.

He saw that Marissa was clearly projecting her own downward spiral onto Oliver, or the front that Oliver was putting forth.

He saw that Marissa's issues were not resolved, and she was finding her comfort in sharing with someone she believed had had a kindred experience.

He saw that while he certainly had feelings for Marissa, her neuroses were causing him almost as much hassle as her company provided happiness.

He also saw that he could no longer allow Marissa to manipulate control over their relationship – as much of an anchor in the Newport morass as she may have been initially, caving in to her over and over was not-so-slowly deadening his own sense of self.

Ryan took a deep breath, feeling the cool ocean breeze brushing over his bare arms and shoulders, and opened his eyes as he let the breath out. His face reflected the newly re-steeled core of his being as he rose from his seat, flicking the cigarette butts over the bluff and grounding the ashes with his shoe. He walked quietly back into the poolhouse, putting the pack back into its place and taking off his jeans before settling onto the bed again. As almost second nature, he leaned over to the side and checked the phone for messages, more than likely from Marissa. Nothing. He then blinked hard, realizing what he was doing. Shaking his head and growling he lay back, closing his eyes as the small voice whispered in his mind…_"It's time to be yourself, Ryan…your real self…"_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Same as before. Characters belong to Fox, song lyrics belong to Linkin Park. 

A/N: Yeah, so after listening to _Meteora_ on the way home from work and then watching "The Rivals", I kind of had to come back to this. Gracias for the great reviews. I know there's at least one more chapter coming.

*********************************** 

_It's easier to run_

_Replacing this pain with something numb_

_It's so much easier to go_

_Than face all this pain here all alone_

While he may have been staring out the grimy window of the dingy bus, the sights were registering nothing but a blank in Ryan's mind. All of his senses seemed shut down, incapable of perceiving anything but the hurricane in his mind. As hard as he tried, there was no escaping it, no denying it.

There were the images: Sandy and Kirsten's faces etched with fury, disappointment, and frustration as he tried to rationalize the break-in. Seth's angered stance denouncing him without words as he tried to tell him about Oliver's obsession. Marissa's eyes widening, the huge orbs brimming with tears as he tried to explain why he had the letter. Oliver's unctuous smirk covering the demon within, just waiting to drop the hammer as he tried to apologize for being wrong.

There were the sounds: The hostile, accusatory undertones of Dr. Kim's voice as she laid out his likely fate. The sharp click of Marissa's heels as she stormed off down the empty hallway. The hushed murmurs of shocked students as he was pulled off a bloodied Oliver.

And there was the truth. Ryan had always known it, but after all the time spent in the Cohen house, all the time spent with Marissa, he had somehow let it fade to the back of his consciousness.

It was over. He was done. The golden grail, the chance he had always dreamed about, had been handed to him on a silver platter and he had blown it.

He hadn't known exactly how it was going to happen, or when. But he should have guessed it would be over Marissa.

The visual popped into his mind's eye: him being held back by three guys, her kneeling beside Oliver, looking up at him with an ashen face, her expression nothing but confusion and fear and horror.

He knew right there. At that moment, all the other sounds faded and the only thing Ryan heard was Oliver's whisper: _"You two are all wrong for each other"…."Me and Marissa just…connect. She gets me, I get her"…."You can't fight fate, man"…_

He knew, and he took off. Sprinting to his locker to grab his bag, emptying what he could into it before slamming the door and running. Running down the back stairwell that led to the athletic complex, running out onto the track and around to the faculty parking lot, running through the open stretch that led to the road that led to the freeway.

It wasn't until he was almost a mile from Harbor's grounds that he stopped. Exhausted, sweating, wheezing for breath, he doubled over on the side of the street, hands on knees as he tried to keep from collapsing. His entire body felt like it was on fire, the adrenaline of the fight waning as his aching muscles made their dissent evident. His eyes were open but white spots obscured his vision of the ground in front of him.

Slowly he stood up straight, his brain finally regaining control over instinct. He reached into his back pocket and inspected his wallet: a $20, a few IDs, and the credit card that Kirsten and Sandy had gotten him "for emergencies only".  He flipped through to see if there was any more cash nestled in the folds, and came across a picture of himself, Seth, Summer and Marissa from Mexico, before that night went down the drain. His eyes closed again, his stomach beginning to twist into knots as he thought about her face again. The mild headache that was developing since this morning suddenly felt as if someone was playing bass drum right against his temples. A tear escaped the corner of his eye as he slowly closed his hand, crushing the picture and tossing it down onto the gravel. Gradually everything seemed to get quiet, and the small voice in his mind began to speak up: 

_Get moving, man, you don't have time to cry and reminisce and curse your luck right now. Time to go, Ryan._

"Go where?" he muttered to himself, wincing as his calves throbbed.

_Anywhere but here, buddy. You know the shit's about to hit the fan. What, you think somehow you're gonna skate on this one? Christmukkah's long over, kid – you're fresh out of miracles._

Ryan ran a hand through his sandy-blonde hair, knowing that to be the case. Inhaling deeply, he started to walk east, trusting his memory that the freeway was probably only a couple of miles up this road.

***********************************

_Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past  
Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have  
Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back  
And never moving forward so there'd never be a past_

***********************************

The afternoon sun was low in the sky as the bus jerked to a stop on Pipeline Avenue, jolting Ryan out a light slumber. Looking around him with bleary eyes, he saw about 10 people, none of whom had been on before. A quick appraisal of their clothing was all that was necessary to see that he wasn't in Newport anymore. He slipped out of his seat and made it to the door before the driver, who apparently was not having the kind of day she wanted either, closed the bus and pulled off. His eyelids felt like ten-pound paperweights as he rubbed the corners of his eyes with his fingertips, gazing at the surroundings and slowly finding his bearings. _Probably should have gotten off a few stops earlier, but I'm alright._ Body still yearning for sleep, he stifled a yawn and trudged his way to the corner store up the block, desperate for caffeine and nicotine. 

An hour later he found himself settled on a bench at the park. His park. The park where he spent summer nights playing soccer with the Hispanic kids by streetlight to avoid going home. The park where he had knocked out Jason Marcus' front teeth in what had to have been the bloodiest fight to ever arise over the last carton of chocolate milk. The park where he and Theresa had started smoking when he picked up a pack that Dawn's boyfriend left in the kitchen.

_"I love you, Ryan. I just wanted you to know that."_

"Um…I, um…thanks…I, I uh…"

She laughed at the look of panic on his face. "Don't worry, this isn't one of those girly ploys to guilt you into saying it…I really just wanted you to know how I feel. I know you care about me, too."

With a smirk he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against his body, leaning back against the bench as her hands slipped into his hair, the rest of the world, all of their myriad problems being pushed aside for a brief moment as their lips met…

Ryan sighed as the remembrance faded back into the recesses of his overloaded mind. Lighting a cigarette, he made his way to the pay phone over by the basketball court while digging in his pocket for the coins from the store. He picked up the receiver and punched in her number as if it hadn't been months since they'd talked. The line rang once, twice, three, four times before it was picked up; he heard her irritated voice as she yelled, "In a minute, mom, Jesus…hello?"

His mouth opened, but his breath caught in his throat. Every last vein in his head throbbed violently. 

"Hello?"

Again he tried to greet her. Nothing. The gears of his mind ground to a halt.

"Who is this?"

Now he was frantic, trying to say something…hello, hey, it's me…anything. All he could muster was a soft exhalation. 

"God dammit…look, whoever this is, don't call here again."

The receiver clicked in his ear and the line went dead. He couldn't move, couldn't even hang up. He leaned forward and pressed his head against the plastic surrounding the phone, the mental, physical and emotional exhaustion threatening to break him completely right where he stood. As the final rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon, he heard the voice whispering again.

_"You can't fight fate, man."_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Ya'll know the deal, same as the first two chapters. I don't own shit, either, so suing me would be a waste of time and lawyer fees.

A/N: I'm seriously a bit overwhelmed at the reviews. Thanks to everyone who took the time. Barring divine inspiration over the weekend, this will be the final chapter – it's just the right place for me to end it. This was a real specific piece and I don't want to lose what good it may contain by overextending it.

**********************************

_I don't know who to trust, no surprise  
(Everyone feels so far away from me)  
Heavy thoughts sift through dust and the lies  
(Trying not to break but I'm so tired of this deceit)  
(Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet)  
(All I ever think about is this, all the tiring time between)  
(And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me)_

Sitting on the curb, head down, eyes closed, forearms on knees, cigarette in hand, sporadically illuminated by a flickering streetlight – at a glance, Ryan appeared less a human being and more the subject of a painting in one of those small, trendy galleries in the neighborhood of the Louvre. Every part of his body ached, the simple act of breathing seeming to bring more pain than it was worth. He hadn't moved from that spot since hanging up the telephone and crumpling into the present stance; the weight of his entire life, every miserable experience he had ever endured, seemed to be fastened to his frame at this moment, pinning him down where he sat. Exhaustion crept through him, threatening to overtake his body at any moment. A slow loop played in his mind's eye: Dawn, Trey, Theresa, Sandy, Kirsten, Seth, Marissa. He had failed them all. No matter where he lived, what he was doing, whether he was in the trailer park or the lap of luxury, all he did was fail.

_"Way to go, you little bastard. Are you happy now, you got your mother all fucked up!"_

_"Shut the fuck up, AJ, Ryan didn't do a damn thing!"_

_"Trey, stay out of this. I'm not talking to you."_

_"How in the hell are you gonna blame this on Ryan? You're the one getting Dawn coked out of her damn head, slapping her around like a rag-doll!"_

_"You worthless son of a bitch!"_

_He rose from his seat on the ragged couch and slammed Trey into the table, grabbing his head and smashing it against the hard surface over and over._

_"Get off of him!" Ryan screamed as he grabbed at AJ's back, trying to pry him loose._

_AJ wheeled around and caught Ryan right in the jaw with a vicious swing of the elbow. He stood over the fallen boy and spat down at him._

_"You aren't going to be shit, you hear me? You and your fucking brother won't amount to a goddamn thing. You're gonna die right here in this shithole trailer park and ain't a damn thing gonna change that."_

Ryan's body shuddered at the recollection, his eyes squeezing shut tighter, trying to push the thoughts back down. Inhaling deeply from his cigarette before tossing it into the pile that had collected along the curb, he felt the smoke burning in his lungs, matching the sensation in his head. He exhaled slowly, the words, the images still swirling. And as if it had somehow crept up silently behind him, the voice returned.

_You see, man? He was right._

Biting the inside of his quivering lip, Ryan's body slumped even further into the seated position, too weak, too powerless to shut it out.

_AJ, Matt, Carl, they all told you this was where you'd end up. Hell, Dawn told you as much, kiddo, and she was drunk half the time she was awake. Julie Cooper, she said you'd never make it in Newport. All those Abercrombie & Fitch kids, the ones with the silver spoons and the platinum credit, they never thought you stood a chance. And Oliver…yeah, he laid it out there pretty plain, didn't he?_

_They were all right about you, Ryan._

He bent over and buried his fingers into his hair, pulling at it as the tears began to slip from the corners of his eyes.

_And now look at you. You know you can't go back to the Cohens. All that Sister Sledge, "We Are Family" nonsense was just that – nonsense. You've always known that. You just thought that somehow you could change who you are, that you could stay out of trouble, be the good little boy long enough to get through high school, maybe even college on their dime? No dice, buddy._

"Shut up," Ryan muttered hoarsely.

_ And to top it all off, now you can't even come back here! Dawn's deserted you, not once but twice. Twice! Turned her back and left you. The other male Atwoods are rotting away in prison, probably just setting the table preparing for you to join them. You couldn't even bring yourself to say a word to Theresa! What are you gonna do if you see her, curl into the fetal position and hide in the corner?_

"Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" he screamed, his pulse racing, his head feeling ready to erupt.

_Hey, I'm just saying, man. Facts are facts. You've got nothing. No family. No friends. Nothing._

Ryan gasped for a breath, but stopped short of vocalizing. In that one moment, all the energy, all the will, all the drive he had remaining simply vanished; his mind went blank. That was right…those were the facts. How could he argue? He slowly lay back onto the sidewalk, covering his face with his hands and wanting nothing more than to fade into oblivion right where he was…

**********************************

_I got a heart full of pain, head full of stress  
handful of anger, held in my chest  
Uphill struggle, blood sweat and tears  
Nothing to gain, everything to fear_

**********************************

_"We've all talked about it and we want to be your legal guardians. We want you to be part of the family. If you want to be."_

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Well, how do you mean?"

"Um...what if something happens and you guys change your mind?"

"Like what? You steal a car? You burn down a house? You beat up the captain of the water polo team? Those ships have sailed, my friend."

Ryan's eyes opened for the first time in what seemed like days. Groggily, he sat up and looked around, knowing that he just heard Sandy and Kirsten somewhere. Slowly the recognition set in and he shook his head sadly. He was lighting up another cigarette when Sandy's voice rang out again, this time more forcefully.

_"You think you can mess up so bad, we'll just give up on you?!? You can't. You are a part of this family now, and you're gonna feel the full weight of that."_

He blinked slowly, those words slowly resonating through his mind.

The weight of family. The burden, the responsibility that came with it.

Something sparked in his mind.

Is it possible? Could Sandy have meant that seriously?

_What the hell, Ryan? Why are you even thinking about that shit? God dammit, you know better. You know those motherfuckers want no part of you now!_

Why not? Why shouldn't I take Sandy at his word? He's done nothing but be straight with me since the day I met him…

_Fucking spare me, man. They took you in out of pity: they thought they saw something noble in the destitute, abandoned kid, but all they got was you, Ryan. A broken, violent troublemaker from the slums._

No. That's not what I am. That's not who I am. I'm more than that.

_Since when are you more than that? Since you broke into your school to illegally scan confidential files? And jumped the shit out of a fellow student two days later?_

People make mistakes. Yeah, those were major, but they don't define me.

_Get this through your fucking head, Ryan. They don't want you in their community, they don't want you in their home, they don't want you around their kid…they don't want you._

How the fuck would you know?

There was no response.

If they want to throw me out, that's up to them. But what if they don't?

No response.

I owe them. I owe it to them to bear my burden as a member of the family.

_You do that then. Just don't say no one warned you when you're out on your ass in the gutter again._

Ryan took a deep breath and held it. There was nothing but silence. No voices, no images, no memories. Just silence.

He held as long as he could, and then exhaled slowly.

And with that, he stood up.

**********************************

"Hello?" The voice on the end of the line sounded haggard, out of breath.

"Seth."

"Ryan?!? Is that you?!?

"Yeah"

"Holy mother of God, Ryan, have you lost your fucking mind? Where the hell are you? Mom and Dad are going apeshit over here trying to find you!!! Dude, what happened with Oliver? I saw Marissa looking like a nightmare and then Summer told me you sucker-punched him and took off? Do you have any idea what kind of shit you're in? Christ, Dad looked like he was having an aneurysm when he came to school!"

"Seth…"

"God, Mom's got an army of PIs combing west of the Mississippi…"

"Seth…"

"What, Ryan?"

"Shut up for 60 seconds."

He heard Seth inhale loudly and stop talking.

"OK, here's the deal. I'm in Chino. I'm fine now. I…I kinda lost it yesterday, and…"

"What do you mean yesterday? It's like 11 o'clock!"

Ryan looked down at his watch through bleary eyes. Seth was right. It was still the same day. 

"Not important. Look, I flipped. I'll explain all of that later. I just…couldn't be in Newport."

"So what, you're running away?!? You're leaving us?!?"

"Jesus, Seth, let me finish!"

"OK. Sorry."

"My mind was just…just not right, for a while there. Just tell Sandy and Kirsten that I'm sorry…and that I'm gonna make my way back. I should be there by morning."

"Ryan, don't move another muscle, I'm calling them right now, they're coming to get you, end of story."

"No. Seth, just tell them…just tell them that I'm…that I'll be home soon."

There was silence on the end of the line, but Ryan could hear Seth choking up.

"Just do that for me, Seth. I'll try to explain Oliver and everything else tomorrow. But tell Sandy and Kirsten that I'm coming home."

"Al, alright man."

Ryan sighed heavily, feeling his mind begin to ease for the first time in what seemed to be eons.

"Ry?"

"Yeah?"

"I….I…nothing. Just hurry home."

"You OK, man?"

"I was worried sick, dude. We all were. We…didn't know what to think…"

Ryan felt tears burning at the corners of his eyes again, wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry. I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Alright"

Ryan hung up the phone and looked around slowly. Picking up his bag and lighting his last cigarette, he walked stiffly towards the nearest bus stop, his mind speaking up softly.

_Well, it's time. Time to carry your weight, Ryan Atwood._


End file.
